


Christmas in the Room

by SleepyEye



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Appendicitis, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Farting, They love each other, some stitches, some vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEye/pseuds/SleepyEye
Summary: Robin is released from the hospital on Christmas Eve, and thinks that she'll be alone for Christmas. IS ANYBODY SURPRISED THAT SHE'S NOT? Definitely realistic depictions of the recovery process, but in a cute way.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Christmas in the Room

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this song, which is the designated 2020 Christmas song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyGmuxx4wSs  
> (Lyrics in end notes)

CHRISTMAS EVE

“I could be there by morning,” Linda said through the phone. Robin could hear her baby niece crying on the other end.

“Honestly mom, I’m fine. Don’t come up. Really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. The whole family is there. I’ll FaceTime you guys, and call all the time.” Robin adjusted the hot pack on her stomach. “Really, it was barely a surgery. The whole thing was laparoscopic. Three little incisions. I don’t have a fever anymore, and they say I can eat soft foods.” 

She’d thought that she would be ravenous after a week of a clear liquid diet, but the thought of another Jell-o cup made her feel vaguely nauseated. 

“I don’t like the thought of you being alone on Christmas,” Linda said.

Robin had driven herself to the hospital a week earlier, with severe stomach pain and vomiting that wouldn’t go away. A CT scan had revealed that her appendix had been ruptured for some time, and had caused sepsis, similar to what had sent Jack into the ICU. 

She’d been in the hospital for six nights, and was glad to be home, though the house was cold and empty of decorations. Her initial plan had been to travel back to Masham on the 23rd, but the doctors had told her that she was in no fit state to travel long distances. Her mother had wanted to drive up to London as soon as Robin was admitted to the hospital, but Robin had insisted that she stay in Masham with the whole family.

“Nick and Ilsa made sure I have plenty of porridge and mashed foods,” Robin said. “They delayed their trip to Cornwall to see me home this morning, which is really very sweet of them.”

“Not Cormoran?”

“Cormoran visited me in the hospital, but now he’s in St. Mawes. I told him to go. It’s his uncle’s first Christmas alone.”

Cormoran had wanted to cancel his Christmas plans, but eventually agreed that Ted needed him more than Robin. 

Max had driven Robin home from the hospital, but then he too had left, apologizing profusely. She understood. He was meeting his boyfriend’s family for the first time. 

“You should have someone with you,” Linda said.

“The doctors wouldn’t have let me go if they hadn’t thought I could be on my own. They even kept me an extra day because they knew I’d be alone. Besides, Michelle, the Hutchinses and the Barclays will stop by tomorrow, to check in and bring some food.”

“But it’s  _ Christmas _ .”

“Exactly. You should be at home with everyone. I’ve got my tree, and I'll manage to make it to a church tonight. Mulled wine counts as a soft food, doesn’t it?”

“Robin!”

“I’m joking Mum. No alcohol for me. But I’ll try to get to mass.”

After ending the call, Robin collapsed back onto her pillow. She hadn’t been entirely truthful to her mother. She didn’t have a tree, as she’d planned on being in Masham for Christmas. And the chances of her going back out in the cold for the Christmas Eve service were less than zero. Christmas Eve dinner was a green smoothie that looked far too similar to the septic bile she had vomited up in the hospital. She wanted to bury her face in her pillows, but her stomach was cramping too badly to lie face down. So she pressed her pillow to her face and howled.

Robin woke up to the doorbell and her phone ringing at the same time. She hadn’t realized that she’d fallen asleep, but the clock read eight, so she must have slept for at least an hour.

The caller ID showed Cormoran, and she picked up as she stood to answer the door. She’d planned on greeting Cormoran with a cheerful hello, but as soon as she stood, her stomach muscles screamed in protest and she couldn’t help a groan of pain. 

“Robin! Are you okay?”

In spite of her discomfort, Robin smiled at the panic in Cormoran's voice.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, “Just slept funny. Hold on there’s someone at the door.”

“That’s me,” Cormoran said.

“What?”

“That’s me. I’m at the door.”

“What?”

Robin peered through the peephole, and sure enough Cormoran was standing on her porch. She threw the door open. As soon as he saw her, he burst into song. 

“ _ Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes!” _

He sang in an exaggerated operatic vibrato, and for a moment Robin forgot her pain. She couldn’t help but laugh, although laughter ached. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, beaming. 

“Did you really think I’d leave you alone on Christmas?”

“But your uncle.”

“He told me to come back. Lucy is there, and Nick and Ilsa. He actually sent you his special cranberry sauce. It’s a secret recipe. I eat it straight from the jar.” He held up his rucksack. “Can I come in?”

Cormoran set the rucksack down on the kitchen counter and started pulling things out of it, like Santa’s magic toy bag.

“Lucy went a bit overboard I’m afraid. Mashed potatoes, apple sauce, bone broth. The bone broth is actually quite good, she puts apples and carrots in.” Jars and jars of soft foods for Robin to eat. 

“Jack gave a lot of input. Although if he had his way it would all be chocolate mousse and milkshakes.”

“The doctor did say I need to put on weight,” Robin said, “Tell Jack thanks.”

Cormoran grimaced, anxious about what he was about to propose. 

“Listen, I don’t want to intrude. But Nick told me that you shouldn’t be home alone tonight. He said that sometimes Flagyl can cause side effects that the doctors don’t think to mention. But if you want to be alone— oh God, please don’t cry, what’s wrong?”

Tears were leaking out of Robin’s eyes and she tried ineffectively to mop them away. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just…” She wiped her nose. “I’m sorry. I really did not want to be alone tonight. But I didn’t want to ask anyone to stay. Not on Christmas.”

Cormoran drew her into his arms without a thought to propriety or professionalism. She rested her head against his lapel and let out a slow shuddering exhale. 

“Robin. You can always,  _ always _ ask me to stay.”

They stood in the kitchen until Robin's tears had eased. Cormoran rocked back and forth slightly, like he was comforting a child, or slow dancing.

“It’s been one hell of a week, eh?” he asked. Robin nodded against his chest. 

“How was Cornwall?” She asked, her voice slightly muffled by his jacket. Cormoran pulled back.

“Let’s eat and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Lucy had not forgotten Cormoran in her whirlwind of food packing. Knowing that he wouldn’t want to eat soft foods for Christmas, she had added in sandwiches and cake and Tupperwares filled with casserole. 

They sat on Robin's sofa, him with a BLT, her with a jar of bone broth.

“You’re right,” Robin said, surprised. “This is good.”

“Lucy learned a lot from my aunt. My aunt was something of a… I guess she would be called a homeopath or an herbalist. My uncle used to tell me she was one of the Cunning Folk. A  _ Pellar _ , in Cornish. A witch doctor.”

“And what did your aunt say to that?”

“She usually told him that was an unchristian thing to say, and he’d apologize, and beg her not to put a curse on him.”

“Well, if this is her bone broth recipe, I would have to agree with your uncle. I already feel better.” She put her feet up, which helped ease the cramping in her stomach. “How is Ted?”

Robin had met Ted when he’d visited London a month earlier, and they had become immediate friends. 

“He's alright,” Cormoran said, “Sad, of course, but I think he’s accepted the sadness and is learning to live with it. He told me to tell you hello and merry Christmas from him.”

“Oh, merry Christmas to him as well,” Robin said, smiling. 

“He put your Christmas card on the center of the mantle, beside Lucy and the Herberts.”

“I feel very honored.”

“You should be. Getting your card on the Nancarrow mantle is high praise in St Mawes. There's fierce competition for that spot.” Cormoran studied his sandwich intently and sighed. “Honestly, I was relieved when he told me to come back here.”

“That’s understandable.”

“It doesn’t seem right without her there. It’s like somebody built a movie set of their house. It looks the same, but it’s not real.”

Robin leaned back onto the pillows. In spite of all the weight she’d lost in the hospital, her bruised belly was still bloated with gas, a side effect of the toxins her appendix had released. Her stomach gurgled too loudly for either of them to ignore, and she blushed. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I guess I ate too fast.”

“No need to apologize,” Cormoran saidl. “Nick said you’ll need to… ah... what’s the medical term…”

Robin stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Don’t say it,” she said. “Please don’t.”

“Ah, so your doctors told you too. They’re not totally inept at least.”

“Oh god, Cormoran, I know you’re my best mate, but God, not even around you.”

“I guess the phrase would be, ‘Pulling an Irene’.”

“Please don't make me laugh, it hurts.”

But it was far too late for that. She was already laughing.

“During Jack's recovery you could hear him farting from across the house. I swear the windows shook.”

Robin clutched at her stomach, convinced that she was going to split her stitches from laughing. 

“The doctors told us it was a good sign, because it meant he didn’t have an abscess, so whenever he let rip we all applauded. Unfortunately he still expects that response.”

Robin was giggling too hard to control herself anymore, and let out a fart as deep and resounding as a fog horn. There was a moment of shocked silence while she and Cormoran both stared, amazed that her body could even make that sound. Then they collapsed in breathless laughter, both red faced, tears streaming from their eyes, bent double. 

“Jesus Christ,” Cormoran gasped, once he was able to speak, “I think you levitated three inches just there.”

That set them off again, which set off Robin's digestion again, like a string of firecrackers.

“Stop, stop,” Robin gasped, “it hurts.”

“At least we know you don’t have an intestinal blockage. If you did before, you just blasted right through it. Like the walls of Jericho.”

Robin's gut decided to emphasize the point with a mighty final blow which left her feeling like a punctured balloon. She put her head on her knees and clutched at her belly.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” she groaned. 

“Are you alright?” Cormoran asked, concerned by the pain on her face.

“I’m fine,” she said, sitting up gingerly. She winced as her sore muscles stretched. “Just a bit battered still.” She gestured to the windows. “Open the windows, let in some fresh air before we get Pink Eye on top of everything.” 

Cormoran obliged, getting up and letting in a blast of freezing air. 

“Light those candles on the mantle too. They’re pine scented.”

Cormoran didn’t usually care for scented candles, but he was pleasantly surprised when he lit them. They were subtle, not overwhelming, and made him feel like he was in the woods.

“My uncle used to have a Christmas tree farm,” Robin said. “Those candles always make me feel like I’m there.”

“They’re nice. Not too strong.” 

He came back to the sofa. Robin wrapped herself up in a furry throw blanket, and looked almost mummified. She giggled.

“God, you drive all the way up from St Mawes and I repay you by hotboxing the flat.”

“Remember that I was staying at St Mawes with three pubescent boys. At least here there’s only one culprit.”

Robin folded her legs up under herself. 

“Jack must be sorry you left.”

“He’s the one who insisted the most that I come and see you. He hated the idea that you’d be alone with appendicitis. He cried for ages at the thought.”

Robin was incredibly touched by this, and almost felt herself tearing up as well. 

“He’s a good kid,” she said. 

“He is. He was full of advice.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Sleep a lot. Drink hot chocolate. Don’t slouch.”

“Don’t slouch?”

“You’ll feel tempted to stay hunched over because it hurts less. But remaining in a permanent slouch can lead to intestinal kinks.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her so that her back was straight. She winced, her tight muscles stretching, but he wasn’t forceful. She hadn’t even realized that she had been hunched until she was sitting straight. 

Cormorans hands were warm and heavy on her shoulders, and his fingers lingered on her neck for just a moment longer than they needed to. Realizing this, he dropped them like he’d been burned, and looked for something to distract him. 

There was a book on the coffee table, and he picked it up. It was an old copy of A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.

“Martin sent that to me in the mail,” Robin explained. “It belonged to my grandfather. He used to dress up as Santa and read it to us. It’s been ages since I read it.” She smiled. “Martin had it overnighted here as soon as he heard I was sick. They still thought I’d be home for Christmas, but he wanted me to have the book anyways.”

“That’s very thoughtful.”

“It was. I was surprised.”

Cormoran opened the book and held it up theatrically. He cleared his throat like a great orator, and began. 

_ “Stave one. Marleys ghost _ .” He glanced at Robin, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to stop him. She raised her eyebrows back, challenging him to continue. 

Cormoran grinned.

_ “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner.” _

He had planned to just read the first paragraph as a joke, but as he read he found himself captivated by the beautiful language. Each word had been carefully and lovingly chosen, and Cormoran could feel the delight that Dickens had found in language. He wasn’t alone in this. Robin was listening, transfixed, and laughing at all the right places. 

_ “The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there.” _

Eventually Robin leaned back on the sofa and shut her eyes. Cormoran paused, but she gestured for him to continue.

Robin was in pain. The dull ache that had shadowed her constantly over the last week had, in the course of an hour, grown into a burning ball of lead in her gut, eclipsing almost everything else. Only Cormoran’s voice could distract her from the molten heat blooming inside of her. 

_ “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blob of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a--” _

That was when Robin felt the heat rising up into her throat, and she knew there was no stopping it. 

She moved faster than she had all week. She was a blur, pounding down the hall with her hands gripped over her mouth. 

Cormoran had barely realized that she was gone when he heard the bathroom door slam, followed by the unmistakable roar and splatter of someone vomiting into the toilet bowl. 

It seemed to last a lifetime. She felt as though her whole body was fighting against her, trying to turn itself inside out. Even after everything had been expelled from her stomach, she continued to gag and heave, sour saliva dripping into the toilet bowl. 

Cormoran tapped on the bathroom door. 

“Robin?”

“Don’t come in.”

She rested her head against the toilet paper dispenser and closed her eyes, panting. 

“Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I… I don’t know. They said I shouldn’t be throwing up anymore. They said it was over.”

“Is it dark green?”

She couldn’t hold back a sob. 

“Don’t make me discuss my vomit with you, Cormoran.”

“Just tell me if it’s dark green. Or brown.” 

“No. Just water. And broth.”

Cormoran didn’t respond, and she hoped he’d gone away. Her stomach didn’t hurt so badly anymore, and she no longer felt nauseated. Still, she knew that vomiting clear liquids was a bad sign. 

She heard Cormoran’s voice, but it was coming from far away now. She guessed that he had gone back to the living room to make a telephone call. 

She dozed in and out, vaguely wondering if she should go to hospital, but too tired to make a decision. The thought of going downstairs to her bed filled her with an inexplicable sense of dread. 

“Robin?”

She blinked awake and groaned. 

“Robin, I have Nick on the phone.”

“Mmm hi Nick.” She rubbed her face, trying to rouse herself. 

“He wants to know when you last took flagyl.”

“Um.” Robin sat up, thinking. “Probably around six.”

Cormoran repeated this information to Nick, then listened for an answer.

“Do you have a fever? Or any numbness?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“How’s your pain on the scale?”

Robin took an inventory. 

“Maybe a five. I’m just sore. Really sore. Like I got punched in the stomach by a prize fighter.”

Cormoran spent several minutes in quiet conversation with Nick, while Robin tried to work herself into a standing position. The best she could do was a kneel, but she managed to shuffle her way to the sink to rinse out her mouth and brush her teeth. 

“Robin?”

She grunted around her toothbrush. 

“Can I come in?”

She spat, then said, “It’s unlocked.”

Cormoran opened the door as she was gargling mouthwash. 

“Nick says to stop Flagyl,” Cormoran said. “He says that in your case the side effects outweigh any benefits.”

“I thought that you weren’t supposed to stop antibiotics halfway.”

“That doesn’t apply to allergic reactions.”

Robin filled herself another capful of mouthwash. She was compromised enough in front of Cormoran. She wouldn’t smell like vomit, too. After swishing and spitting she checked her watch. It was ten o’clock. 

She sighed.

“I really do not want to go to bed.”

Robin hadn’t slept in her own bed for a week. In the hospital, nurses had woken her every few hours to take her vital signs. While she hadn’t particularly looked forward to the interruption, it had been reassuring to know that nobody would let anything bad happen to her. Now, even with Cormoran sleeping in Max’s room across the hall, her bed seemed impossibly remote, miles away from help. 

“It’s hard to sleep after a hospital visit,” Cormoran said. “After my leg I was sure that I was going to die in my sleep. Despite all evidence to the contrary, of course.”

“That’s exactly it. The past week I’ve had people checking in every few hours. And suddenly they all decided at once that I was fine and could be completely alone. Why are they so sure? It’s like they pulled me out of nursery and sent me straight to medical school.”

Cormoran considered this.

“You do need rest... But that doesn’t mean it has to be in your bedroom.” 

“Doesn’t it?”

“We can pull out the sofa bed so you can stretch out comfortably. We can talk, or watch something. You can fall asleep when you’re tired, or you can just relax. And I’ll be there in case anything bad happens.”

Robin was about to agree when the absurd vulnerability of the situation hit her. She gave him a stern look. 

“I’m not a damsel you know,” she said. 

Cormoran was startled.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t have to save me. Or fix this situation.”

He blinked at her. 

“You don’t have to coddle me and read me children’s stories and nurse me to health,” she finished.

“Look, Robin, I’m not here because I have some sort of savior complex, or… or some misplaced daddy kink.”

“Why exactly  _ are _ you here?” Robin demanded. 

“I’m here because…” Cormoran felt wrong footed, worried that he might reveal too much. “I’m here because last Christmas I was sick and alone and miserable. I don’t want you to feel that way now.”

Robin exhaled as she remembered last Christmas. She had been so angry with him. He’d been left alone to be poisoned.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she said. 

“You were with your family. You were meeting your niece. It would have been strange for you to give that all up for your business partner.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Cormoran sighed. He’d have to tell her some part of the truth. 

“It’s different. I’m here because… If I’m being honest, I’m here Because I enjoy your company.” He rubbed his face and looked at the ceiling. “And, ah. In the sake of openness, I’d rather spend Christmas with you than with anybody else.”

Robin felt floored by this confession, like a train balancing off the edge of a cliff. She wondered if an accelerated heart rate was a symptom of Flagyl. She bit her lip. 

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I smell like sick and I’ve been farting all evening.”

Cormoran grinned.

“On the contrary, I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in weeks.” He jerked his head towards the living room. “Come on. We can watch something. Or just talk.”

Robin was surprised at how good that sounded. She hadn’t realized how alone she had felt in her room. 

With a moan of pain, she heaved herself up into a standing position. 

“You good?” Cormoran asked. 

“Yeah. Just sore.” 

She exhaled through pursed lips, like a woman in labor. Without thinking, Cormoran grabbed her hand in his free one. 

“You go on in,” Robin said, “I need to shower.”

  
  


Robin showered carefully, clutching tightly to the bar and avoiding her bandaged stomach. She washed her hair twice to get the smell out, and used her expensive body wash, which had been a gift from Vanessa and that she usually saved for special occasions. 

She usually wore leggings and a T-shirt to bed, but she found that the leggings were tight over her stitches and she couldn’t lift her arms to get the shirt over her head. After some digging she found an old pajama set that her aunt had gifted to her years earlier. It had a pattern of corgis wearing the royal crown, and it was far too large for her, so it had been pushed to the back of her dresser and forgotten. Now it seemed like the perfect thing for her aching body. The bottoms were loose around her stitches, and the top had buttons, so she didn’t need to reach her arms up. 

After putting it on she washed her face and brushed her teeth a second time, then lurched her way upstairs. She felt a bit high, whether from illness, exhaustion, or lack of food she wasn’t sure.

Cormoran had pulled out the sofa bed and was sitting on it, surfing through Prime. He had changed into track bottoms and a T-shirt. His prosthetic was resting against the side of the sofa, alongside a collapsible crutch, and the leg of his trousers was pinned up neatly. He had the fur throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders like Jon Snow. He smiled when he saw her.

“Nice pajamas.”

“Thanks. My aunt gave them to me.” 

“I poured you a cup of Pedialyte,” Cormoran said. “I know it’s not exactly fine dining, but you’re probably pretty dehydrated. Do you want anything else to eat?”

“Not quite yet,” Robin said, dropping onto the sofa beside him. She took small sips of the Pedialyte, grimacing slightly at the strange sweet taste.

He nodded to her stomach.

“How are the battle wounds?”

“Not too bad. They only gave me nine stitches. Three little incisions, with three stitches on each.” 

Before Cormoran could say anything, Robin had flipped up the hem of her top to show her pale stomach. There were three bandages: one on either side, and one over her belly button. 

Cormoran barely noticed the bandages, he was too distracted by her skin. It was white and smooth, and he felt a strange and sudden urge to rest his face there, to see if she would be soft. He wanted to see how all of her skin fit together, not just the small pieces he saw every day, but the whole of it, connected in one smooth sheet. 

“The doctor said I can take off the bandages,” Robin said, oblivious to his line of thought, “But I’m very nervous. I almost feel like if I take them off, all my insides will pour out. Like in Catch 22.”

Cormoran grinned at the reference. 

“That depends. If you start feeling very cold, maybe we should be concerned.”

Robin shivered instinctively and pulled her top back down.

“You know that scene in catch 22 was based on the author's true experience?” she asked. 

“I didn’t know that. But I can imagine.” He leaned back on the sofa cushions. “I refused to take the bandages off my scars,” he said. “Charlotte ended up getting me blackout drunk and doing it while I was asleep.”

“Are yours just on your leg? Or…”

“I have scars everywhere. I look like I’m written in braille.” 

“I was thinking about getting a tattoo over the scar on my arm.”

“What of?”

“Not sure. Michelle was showing me hers. She has a branch with cherry blossoms on the back of her calf, and a rose over the burn on her shoulder.”

Cormoran was surprised at this. Michelle was serious, quiet, and hard working. He had never seen her wear anything but jeans and a leather jacket, so he’d never seen her calves or her shoulders.

“I didn’t know that about her.”

“She’s very private. But I’ve gotten drinks with her and Vanessa, and she opens up more then.”

“She’s a good investigator.”

“She is.” Robin turned her glass in her hands. “It’s a bit intimidating.”

Cormoran grinned. He had also felt it. Michelle’s crisp professional efficiency made the rest of them look careless by comparison. 

“She intimidates me too,” he said. He grinned. “But not nearly as much as you do.”

Robin blushed. 

“You know me,” she said. “Born to strike fear into the hearts of men.”

“Honestly. You’re far too good at your job.”

Robin smiled at her feet, embarrassed. An involuntary shiver ran through her. 

“Are you cold?” Cormoran asked, sitting up straighter, “Look at me, I’m stealing the only blanket. You take it.”

“You’re in a T-shirt. Won’t you be cold?”

“I run warm.”

Robin narrowed her eyes at him, but she couldn’t deny that she was a bit cold. She had lost eight pounds in one week, and found that the slightest draft shot right through her.

“We can share,” she said, moving in close and pulling the blanket around both of their shoulders. Cormoran seemed momentarily stunned by this sudden intimacy, but she barely noticed. The trauma of the past week made her feel almost drunk. She rested her head against Cormoran’s shoulders, and he pulled her in close. 

“God, you’re like an aga,” she said, “How are you so warm?”

“I’m well insulated,” he said. He could feel Robin smile against him.

“It’s funny,” she said, “All my life doctors have told me to lose weight, eat less, exercise more. And suddenly they’re saying gain weight, rest more, drink milkshakes and eat chocolate mousse.”

“Sounds like your doctors have finally seen sense.”

Robin smiled around her yawn. 

“Let’s watch a movie,” she said. “Pick something festive.”

Cormoran barely had to scroll before Robin shouted, “Yes! That one!”

He selected  _ It's a Wonderful Life _ . 

“My parents first date was to a drive in showing of this film,” Robin said. “My mum even quoted it in her wedding vows.”

“I’m imagining her shouting, ‘Zuzu's petals! Zuzu's petals!’?”

“You’re such a cynic. No. There’s a scene at the beginning where young Mary whispers,  _ ‘George Bailey, I’ll love you till the day I die.’ _ That’s what my mum said in her vows. With my dad's name of course.”

“It would probably be bad form to use George Bailey's name.”

Robin ignored this.

“I don’t see it as a romantic story,” she went on, “But I love it almost more for that. Of course it’s quite sexist, and has some racism too. But it’s a beautiful redemption story.” She was getting excited now, gesturing with her hands. “At the end, George Bailey has burned all his bridges. Yelled at his wife and kids, gotten into a brawl, crashed the car. He’s a massive asshole. But people still help him. People still love him through it. And now you’re staring at me.”

Cormoran looked away quickly, his face heating. He’d been caught.

“I wasn’t. I was… listening. Listening intently.”

“Oh God, have you not seen the film? Did I just spoil it?”

“I have seen it. My aunt loved it. I just never really gave it much thought.”

Listening to Robin’s excitement, he found himself much more interested than he ever had been before. 

Cormoran tried to keep his eyes on the screen as they watched. He really did make a valiant effort to focus on the plot. But Robin's face drew his eyes like a magnet, and it took all his energy to look away from her. He had never been this close to her. Not like this. Not pressed together like this, for an extended time. He was glad that he was a private investigator, and knew how to observe someone with subtlety. Of course, Robin also had that skill, but she was half high on exhaustion and post-op recovery, so her guard was down, and she didn’t notice. 

She lasted about halfway through the movie before drifting off to sleep. Cormoran watched her blinks slow, until her eyes were closed more than open. He watched her face grow slack and soft, her breath even. 

Something had been building between them ever since Robin’s birthdays. Although, if he was being honest with himself, it has been building between them since the day they met. Neither of them had discussed it, or acted upon their feelings, but they both knew the feelings were there. They both knew, and they were both terrified. 

Now, watching Robin sleep, Cormoran couldn’t remember what he was so afraid of.

He turned off the film and tried to ease himself out from under her without waking her up. She shifted and groaned.

“‘S it Christmas yet?” she murmured.

Cormoran checked his watch. 11:52.

“Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

He tucked the blanket around her and went to fetch another one so she wouldn’t get cold.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled, grabbing his wrist.

“What?”

“Stay here with me.” She mumbled something unintelligible, then said, “Don’t wanna die in my sleep.”

“I’m going to get more blankets,” Cormoran said, “Then I’ll come back.”

“Okay.”

He pulled the blankets off Robin’s bed downstairs and brought them to her. He kept a few for himself as well, though he didn’t plan on sleeping much.

“‘S it Christmas  _ now _ ?” Robin asked. Cormoran grinned and checked his watch again. 12:01.

“Yes. Now it’s Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Merry Christmas, Robin.”

She snuggled deeper below the blankets. 

“Love you.”

Cormoran could barely make out the words.

“What?” he asked. 

Robin snored in response.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> No travel bags, no shopping malls  
> No candy canes, no Santa Claus  
> For as the day of rest draws near  
> It's just the two of us this year  
> No silver bells or mistletoe  
> We'll kiss and watch our TV show  
> I'll come to you, I'll sing to you  
> Like it's Christmas in the room  
> I'll dance with you, I'll laugh with you  
> 'Til it's Christmas in the room  
> No traffic jams, no ice and storm  
> Far in the house the fire is warm  
> No Christmas tree, no great parade  
> It's just an ordinary day  
> No parties planned, no place to go  
> It's just the two of us alone  
> And in the house we see a light  
> That comes what we feel inside  
> I'll come to you, I'll sing to you  
> Like it's Christmas in the room  
> I'll dance with you, I'll laugh with you  
> 'Til it's Christmas in the room  
> 'Til it's Christmas in the room  
> Oh, I can't see the day when we'll die  
> But I don't care to think of silence  
> For now I hear you laughing  
> The greatest joy is like the sunrise  
> No gifts to give, they're all right here  
> Inside our hearts, the glorious cheer  
> And in the house we seek a light  
> That comes from what we know inside  
> I'll come to you, I'll sing to you  
> Like it's Christmas in the room  
> I'll dance with you, I'll laugh with you  
> 'Til it's Christmas in the room


End file.
